A Wolf Story (9 page)

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A sweeping blow of the bear's paw struck a sadistic shape from the air, sprawling the wolf across the rock-strewn slope. But before the bear could see whether it lived or died, the others were upon him, covering him beneath a swirling storm of white fangs. He struck wildly in his rising fear and panic, his courage submerged beneath a wave of horror that shattered his instinct to fight.

One huge wolf collided against his legs, and the bear staggered, swaying against the roaring tide. And with a thunderous roar he fell, half-rolling on the steep incline. He lashed out blindly at his attackers as they flooded over him, a black sea of demonic forms and slavering fangs.

Malignant and horrible, one black wolf leapt upon his torn chest, its jaws horribly distended, prepared to draw deep blood. And the bear felt his last desperate hopes shatter with the sight.

Then a white avalanche of strength descended, roaring and striking, into the fray; a great silver shape that collided full against his snarling foe, sending the dark wolf careening wildly into the night. In a ferocious display of raw power th
e ghostly shape spun, a magnificent silver wolf, and struck another demonic shape that howled in agony and tore away.

As if suddenly resurrected from some nightmarish land of cruelty and despair, the bear roared, and with a volcanic effort threw off another fiendish form to gain his feet. Realizing instantly that what was not against him was for him, the bear stood shoulder to shoulder with the silver wolf, and the dark wolves were shaken by the sight.

Inspired by desperate hope and enraged by his searing wounds, the bear struck even more savagely than before. And the silver wolf also dealt deadly blows, striking like lightning to send two more of the dark pack staggering back with wounds.

In a moment it was over. As one, the fiendish pack broke away, howling and
cursing in frustration, retreating as quickly as they had come. Angry cries followed the demonic horde as they raced down the ridge, fleeing into the night to merge chaotically with the darkness.

"Follow me!" shouted the silver wolf, and the wounded bear obeyed, too disoriented from the shock of combat to debate. And together, the silver shape leading, they ran across the ridge to fade into the treeline. The bear
trailed clumsily, his great weight smashing a wide, bloody path through the forest.

A long time they ran, until the ridge was left far behind and they arrived together, exhausted, beside a wide, moonlit stream that rumbled soothingly beneath outstretched branches of the shadowed night. Speechless and fatigued, they rested.

Aramus lowered his head to drink from the stream, and the bear followed his motion. They drank, and rested, and drank still more until they felt their strength returning. Finally, when Aramus had recovered from the quick but savage battle, he stepped back from the stream and gazed quietly at the bear.

During the frenzied battle on the ridge, Aramus had only dimly noticed the creature's condition. But now he saw that the bear was young, not even half-grown, still far from the size and strength it would command with age. Yet it was already strong in its wrath, and could be dangerous to arouse. Even though he had saved its life, Aramus remained cautious, knowing from experience that the quick, native temper of the creature was easily provoked. With a safe distance between them, he regarded it carefully, prepared to flee if need arose.

Finally, its great thirst satisfied, the bear also stepped back wearily and turned to look upon him. Its haggard face was confused and drawn from long despair. And suddenly, as if unable to stand, the bear laid down, its open mouth heaving great breaths. Aramus continued to watch silently, studying its cuts bleeding black in the white light of night. The bear seemed weary unto death, and Aramus waited for the creature to compose himself.

And when it was quiet and rested, seeming to find some peace in this quiet place, he spoke.

"I am Aramus, son of Gianavel."

Still breathing heavily, the bear stared at him, tired and sad, and its mind seemed far away. Fresh pain welled within the soft brown eyes as the creature spoke.

"I am Kaleel," he whispered. "They killed my father."

Aramus felt a piercing sorrow for the creature, and he lowered his head, grieving that his battle in the Deep Woods could have led to such senseless pain. But he was becoming accustomed to death, even death that claimed lives of the innocent.

"I am ... sorry," he said softly. "They were hunting me, not you. You only fell into the trap."

The young bear stared at him a moment longer, grieving and broken. Then it shook its head wearily.

"No," he whispered weakly. "My father has fought with the dark wolves before. They hated him because he loved the Lightmaker. It was the lion—"

Aramus ceased to breathe.

"Incomel?" he asked softly.

The bear studied him a moment, seeming to grow even more weary and sad. He lowered his gaze to the ground.

"Yes, Incomel. He hated my father. He was with the wolves when they attacked. Even as my father died, he told me to run, so I ran. I didn't know ... what else to do."

Aramus looked into Kaleel's tired face. He started to speak again, but the eyes of his heart suddenly looked upon another scene: a scene of death far from this place, where snow had laid deep and an ancient beast had stalked forth from a storm; a scene where a dying hare had shared the pain of a frightened wolf until the wolf had shared its strength. Aramus breathed deeply with the memory, knowing again every emotion, every word spoken during the long night that would live forever within him.

Shining silver eyes gazed carefully at the bear. Aramus knew that if he moved quickly and alone he could cross the border in the confusion of this latest conflict, long before the dark wolves reassembled their strength. Yet with the bear at his side, wounded and slow, escape was less likely. But even as he stared at the creature, feeling its pain, he knew that he could not withhold his help. He almost sensed a burden lifting from his shoulders as he spoke, as if he had made a grave decision, though he had made the decision so quickly, and so easily, that it was hardly a decision at all.

"You can come with me," Aramus said, sensing the price he would pay. "And we'll cross the border together. If we move quickly we can be on my father's mountain by tomorrow night. The dark wolves won't go there. They're afraid of the Elders of the Gray Wolves. And you'll be safe. We won't harm you."

Kaleel gazed at him. "You will help me?"

Despite the great, sudden weariness that overwhelmed his own soul, Aramus smiled
, “Yes, I’ll help you."

♦   ♦   ♦

Gianavel sped through the night that seemed as day, so clearly did he see the land that rolled away beneath him, white and dark in the moonlight.

The great gray wolf descended a steep slope, gathering speed with each hurtling stride to reach the base. Then his powerful legs transformed the speed into grace, launching him up the next ascent with wide bounds. He cleared the crest, found level ground, and stretched out his long stride, scorning the endless miles, fiercely enduring the pain that burned in his limbs.

In time, he knew, the weight of mortal flesh would make him slow his speed to a loping gait that he could maintain for days. But for now his strength could not be contained, his spirit and endless love compelling him to find his child.

He hurled himself through the darkened corridors of the forest night, racing with the wind, reading every shadow to find the surest path to the south. And even as he ran, he prayed, asking for strength equal to the task.

Suddenly a dark panorama arose in the great wolfs mind: a ghastly vision of his loyal pack lying bloody and dying on a snowy mountainside, their strength broken, their faith crushed. And Aramus, too, laid in that haunting scene, torn and dying beside the father who had come so swiftly to rescue him.

Enraged, Gianavel roared even as he ran, knowing the thoughts were not his own, refusing to allow the Dark Lord a stronghold in his heart. And channeling his great, thrilling anger into strength, the gray wolf leaped forward with a speed that devoured the distance before him, defeating the darkness with the fierceness of his faith.

* * *

four

Aramus awoke, not certain he had
ever slept. He vaguely remembered a long, troubled night dozing fitfully beside the rumbling stream with shattered dreams of red death in a snowy field, a demonic lion with eyes of flame standing before him, and a colossal, darkened cave that held something monstrous ... waiting

He stood, blinking, and shook the cold from his damp mane. Kaleel was beside him, breathing deeply in heavy sleep. Aramus regarded the bear carefully in the faint starlight of early morning. The dark patches in its fur were ravaged, its flesh torn, yet there was no killing wound.

Instinctively moving without sound, Aramus made his way back along the trail they had followed in their desperate escape. And he saw that the path was crushed, marked with blood, an easy trail to track. He followed the wide swath for a short distance, becoming more alert as he moved. His eyes constantly shifted from the trail to the forest ahead, scanning the shadowed trees, listening, watching. But his movements did not require conscious thought, so completely had he been transformed in the ordeal of past days. Without thinking he did what he had to do, always searching, always alert. But he found no scent, no marks, no sign of a pursuing pack. And he began to feel somewhat easier as he stalked through the golden light of dawn.

Until he thought of his father.

With a disturbing intensity, Aramus was suddenly concerned for the old wolf. Gianavel would be worried by now and might even be searching for him in the Deep Woods. Aramus hoped that his father had not ventured south. He was a hated enemy of the Dark Council, and was always in great danger when he came down from the mountain.

Even before Aramus felt the gentle breeze that bore it, a sudden scent assaulted his senses. Mane bristling, he froze in his silent stride. And for a long moment he stood, searching, before realizing that the beast was still far away.

Confused, Aramus could not immediately identify the scent. It did not emanate from any creature he had ever known. Though dimly, submerged somewhere within the windblown presence, there resided the faint trace of a lionlike force, as if what had once been a lion had been hellishly transformed into something more, something hideous and monstrous and bloodthirsty, something the earth was never meant to endure.

Quickly Aramus turned and backtracked through the forest, heedless of the slight sound caused by his haste. He knew somehow that stealth would not save them now. Their only cha
nce rested upon speed and endurance. In a moment he was at the stream, where Kaleel was sitting up, gazing at him with curious eyes.

"They are coming," Aramus whispered. "I think Incomel is with them. We must move quickly."

Instantly the bear was on his feet, instinctively swaying from side to side, displaying his distinctive shape and stance to any enemy approaching. Aramus knew the movement and replied quickly, quietly.

"No. They are not close. But they'll be here soon. We've got to move fast."

Then Aramus was loping along the stream, moving toward the golden sun, Kaleel shambling close behind. And as they ran, the stream narrowed, the rocks growing larger and more shattered until only huge, jagged pieces of granite lay alongside the stream.

On and on they ran, and as they moved higher up the stream the banks began to steepen, ascending quickly, until they were enclosed by two towering granite walls. Aramus did not like being trapped by the impassable cliffs, and saw that it had been foolish to follow the stream for so long. Now they were trapped, with retreat impossible. Aramus realized bitterly that he had made a mistake that could cost them their lives.

Unable to retreat, they continued onward, leaping from boulder to boulder, moving quickly, always searching for a way out of the narrow canyon. And finally, when the cold sun was high, Aramus saw a thin break in the monolithic granite wall on the opposite shore. The narrow crevice seemed strangely unnatural, as if some irresistible force had descended upon the stone with devastating impact, shattering the cliff and leaving behind a thin slash of broken rock.

"We have to go that way," Aramus said, looking back at Kaleel. "If we don't get off this streambed, they'll catch us. But if we climb that cliff we can get into open country, and then we can go north. Do you think you can make it?"

Kaleel cast an exhausted glance toward the cliff. Aramus knew that the bear preferred to stand and fight, not accustomed to fleeing a foe. But escape was their only chance. If Incomel was really stalking them, the beast could kill the son as quickly as he had killed the father.

Kaleel nodded, breathing hard.

"I think so," he said wearily.

Aramus leapt first into the freezing water, instantly shocked by the killing cold that enveloped his flesh. Swimming strongly, using the fierce movements to fight off the deathlike chill, he quickly crossed the fast-flowing stream. And in a moment he raised himself upon the opposite shore, shaking violently to throw the invading cold from his shaggy coat. Kaleel emerged a moment later, heavy with the fatigue of his wounds.

Standing in the shadow of the towering ridge, Aramus felt a disturbing pall of fear. As he gazed up the cliff, a trembling, not caused by the cold, began in his legs. And with the trembling came a weary heaviness, a rising fatigue that loomed like a wave within him. Was this truly how it was going to be? Was a life of faith always going to be one fierce challenge after another, one fight after another, conflict upon conflict, struggling always to overcome both his fears and the darkness of the world?

With a sad shadow dimming his silver eyes, Aramus remembered how Saul, so small in strength, yet so great in spirit, had remained faithful and true to the end, despite his pain, despite the agony of his wounds. And he knew he would do the same. The battle was unending, and with each new struggle he would have to allow the spirit of the Light maker to master his fears again, strengthening him for the task. With the thought, the wolf set his jaw with an effort of will that focused his vision to a narrow view, setting nothing before him but the challenge of ascending the path.

"Let's go," Aramus said softly and stepped forward. "We overcome or we die."

Freezing and wet, the rocky face was slippery and hazardous to negotiate. Even with his superior sureness of step, Aramus was forced to carefully avoid uncertain footholds. Halfway up the treacherous climb, he glanced down and saw that Kaleel was struggling fiercely in his halting efforts to ascend the bluff. The bear's wide dark paws, with their huge, curved claws, scraped desperately
at the slanting granite. And after each abrupt movement the bear would stretch prone upon the freezing rock, grasping tenaciously at narrow holds, snatching brief moments of rest.

On trembling legs Aramus ascended to the last, steepest section of the bluff and saw that there was no place to step. A small overhang, smooth as blackened bone, descended in a curtain from the rim. Aramus carefully studied the glistening edge, measuring its distance. Then he glanced cautiously down at the streambed below. A killing fall.

Always strength comes for the task, he told himself. Always strength comes for the task. But his legs continued to tremble, and his breath came fast and deep as he struggled to control his fear.

He looked at the rim again. When, he wondered, would he command
the strength that Saul had commanded, that Gianavel commanded? Aramus knew that his father would never be afraid of this. Gianavel would clear this and be gone. But Aramus knew he did not have the strength of his father, and he feared that he never would.

With silver eyes focused intently on the black rim, Aramus crouched, tensing his powerful legs, and launched himself upwards. A long moment he sailed through the air, enveloped by the wind, then landed lightly on the summit. Even as his paws touched level ground, Aramus surged with exultation. Unable to contain his joy, he ran a few steps down the slope ahead before turning back to the cliff.

Looking over the edge, he saw that Kaleel was almost halfway up the wall, his breath heaving in huge, vapor-ous clouds from his gaping mouth. The weariness of the bear concerned Aramus. They would cover little ground before nightfall. Warily, he looked down the stream, but there was no sign of the dark pack, no movement along the water, now blindingly white in the sun.

Vaguely confused, knowing that the pack should have been upon them by now, Aramus turned to gaze across the sloping glade at his back. Only hills could be seen beyond, strangely haunting, bleak and soundless. And there was no movement of life, no song or cry or the faintest flutter of wings in all the desolation.

Silver eyes narrowed as he studied the sight. Something was wrong here, he knew, something he could not place. And he felt a curious impression, a disturbing premonition that warned him not to enter that land. But he had no time to ponder the thought.

He looked back to Kaleel, who had finally scraped his way to the same precipitous piece of granite that Aramus had cleared. The bear stood on the last flat foothold, studying the edge with
quick breaths. Aramus saw Kaleel’s great brown form trembling from the fear and effort of struggling up the cliff. Frustrated, the bear swung his head nervously from side to side, desperately searching the rock for a way of escape and becoming more fearful by the moment.

Aramus saw the thick legs brace, as if to chance a wild leap for the summit, and realized instantly that the
bear would not survive. And even as Aramus saw the movement, he shouted.

"No!"

* * *